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THE  EPHEBIC  OATH 
AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 


^ 


>  r^ 


THE  EPHEBIC  OATH 
AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 


BY 


n 


ALEXANDER  McADIE 

DECORATIONS    BY    LUCIA     K.     MATHEWS 
FRONTISPIECE     BY     ARTHUR     F.      MATHEWS 

'pl)ilopoU$  Series 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

A.   M.   ROBERTSON 

MCMXII 


COPYRIGHT 

BY 

ALEXANDER  MCADIE 

1912 


San'^Ff  aitcisco 


TO 

M.  R.  B.  M. 


260135 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Ephebic  Oath 

-     15 

Infra  Nubem 

25 

Thalassa,  Thalassa! 

-     31 

The  Strength  of  the  Hills  - 

41 

The  Lights  Outside 

-     51 

La  Bocana          _        .        - 

59 

PREFATORY  NOTE 

The  essays  Infra  Nubem,  The  Lights 
Outside  and  La  Bocana  appeared  orig- 
inally in  the  'P^UofoUs  magazine,  and 
are  here  reprinted  by  the  courtesy  of 
the  111)110^0115  l^r  ess. 


THEEPHEBICOATH 


«^T^v;  V 


N  his  gently  careless  way,  the 
Amateur  Emigrant  noted  that  in 
American  cities,  citizens  new 
and  old  spurned  the  slow-paced 

fellow  who  possessed  not  coin  of  the  realm ; 

and  that  art  and  song  seemingly  were  of  less 

importance  than  silver  and  gold. 

*'  There  is  but  one  question  in  modem 
politics y  he  says,  ^^  though  it  appears 
in  many  forms  y  and  that  is  money,'' 


With  the  exasperating  sagacity  of  the  unprac- 
tical man  and  dreamer,  he  added 

*  *  There  is  but  one  political  remedy  — 
the  people  should  grow  wiser  and  better, 

IS 


'•*/  t 


EEPHEBICOATH 


And  how?  The  word  poHtics  has  to  right- 
eous men  or  to  those  who  take  themselves  as 
righteous,  a  meaning  that  savors  of  unhoU- 
ness.  Yet  the  word  means  **  afFairs  of  the 
city'';  and  to  be  busily  engaged  with  the 
affairs  of  the  city  should  certainly  be  held 
praiseworthy  and  honorable.  The  soul  of  a 
city  —  essence  of  the  place  and  people  —  can 
never  easily  die.  Mortals  pass  quickly  from 
the  sun  lit  way;  but  the  spirit  of  a  community 
lives  on  forever.  Athens,  city  of  the  violet 
crown,  aside  from  its  time-touched  temples 
of  enduring  beauty,  lives  in  the  memory  of 
men  because  of  lofty-minded  sons  who  walked 
and  talked  in  "olive  groves  of  Akademe". 
And  it  is  the  spirit  of  old  Rome,  the  strife  of 
proud  patrician  and  persistent  plebeian  that  is 
eternal  as  the  hills. 

16 


THEEPHEBICOATH 


Of  modern  cities,  some  have  souls  and 
some  are  soulless.  Mostly  they  are  huge 
melting  pots  of  the  nations.  Our  home  cities 
are  too  often  crucibles  where  Mede,  Elamite 
and  Parthian  are  fused  in  one.  But  the  re- 
ducing heat  is  the  flame  of  business  zeal,  not 
the  fire  of  civic  righteousness.  The  new 
made  citizen  and  native  born  alike  boast  of 
tall  buildings,  uncouth  temples  to  the  uncouth 
god  of  trade.  Non-essentials  are  exalted  and 
the  youth  are  unaware  that  the  true  grandeur 
of  a  city  is  its  contribution  to  time's  long 
roll  of  noble  lives  and  inspiring  deeds. 

There  is  a  breeze-swept  city  by  the  Western 
Gate  quite  unlike  other  cities  of  its  size  and 
age.  A  breeze-swept  city  where  the  inani- 
mate seems  to  mold  the  animate ;  where  skies 

17 


THEEPHEBICOAFH 


and  winds  and  clouds  are  woven  into  the 
texture  of  one's  daily  life.  Here,  fogs  like 
silver  threaded  scarfs  trail  their  loose  ends 
upon  the  waters,  or  wind  themselves  like 
bridal  veils  around  the  brown  and  russet  hills. 
The  city  is  not  a  swollen  macropolis.  Even 
in  the  crowded  quarters,  the  air  sweeps  pure 
and  free  and  there  is  no  sense  of  misery  and 
squalor.  There  is  time  to  live.  The  day 
may  be  given  over  to  work,  but  sweet  sleep 
comes  with  the  night.  The  breeze  has  the 
velvet  touch  that  only  sea  air  knows;  and  in 
the  cheeks  of  the  children  are  blooms  fresher 
than  the  flowers.  Fortunate  indeed  are  the 
citizens  of  such  a  city.  Yet  stay.  Something 
is  wanting.  Health  and  the  zest  of  living  are 
not  all.  To  the  very  joy  of  being  shall  there 
not  be  added  appreciation   of   the  beauty  of 

18 


THEEPHEBICOATH 


truth  and  the  loveliness  of  service  ?  Are  there 
no  garlands  for  the  time  scarred  altars  of  duty 
and  sacrifice?  Are  these  to  be  as  unknown 
gods,  ignorantly  worshiped?  Shall  we  not 
give  the  youth  opportunity  to  prize  and  seek 
the  ancient  privilege  of  serving,  serving  not 
one  but  all ;  serving  not  once  but  always  ? 

Given  such  opportunity,  the  city  youth 
responsive  as  only  youth  can  be,  and  with 
that  foreshadowing  seriousness  that  youth 
alone  can  assume,  will  press  forward  to  dedi- 
cate themselves,  swearing  the  old  Ephebic 
Oath. 

And  this  the  oath : 


19 


OatI) 

To  bring  no  disgrace  to  the  City 
by  dishonest  aB  .  .  .  To  fight 
for  the  ideals  and  sacred  things y 
alone  and  with  many  ,  ,  ,  To 
desert  no  faltering  comrade  .  .  . 
To  revere  and  obey  the  City 
laws  and  to  incite  respeB  and 
reverence  in  those  above  us 
who  are  prone  to  annul  or  set 
them  at  naught .  ,  ,  To  strive 
unceasingly  to  quicken  the  pub- 
lic sense  of  civic  duty  ,  .  ,  To 
transmit  this  City  not  less  but 
better  and  more  beautiful  than 
it  was  transmitted  to  us  ,  .  . 


THEEPHEBICOAFH 


And  so  these,  the  youth  of  the  breeze- 
swept  city  will  make  it  the  City  their  fathers 
longed  to  know,  the  city  many  have  dreamed 
of.  This  is  politics.  Those  who  make  good 
their  oath  shall  be  called  politicians,  care- 
takers of  the  city,  citizens  who  face  the  light. 


INFRA  NUB 


J  >   >  J  J 


o 


(3 


fO 


INFRANUBEM 


OWLED  and  penitent,  like  a  Friar 
of  Orders  Gray,  the  city  kneels  in 
summer  afternoons  on  the  lower 
steps  of  the  altar  hills.  Beneath 
the  cassock  of  fog  —  a  loosely  woven  serge  — 
are  hopes,  prayers,  truth  and  gentleness.  But 
also  under  that  robe  of  gray  lurk  cunning, 
greed,  pride  and  pretense.  Like  the  merci- 
ful mantle  of  charity,  the  fog  covers  our 
many  sins. 

We  who  love  the  city,  know  that  the  gray 
covering  stretched  overhead,  while  it  dims 
the  brightness  of  the  sun,  is  at  once  our 
greatest  asset  and  our  richest  blessing. 

Would  you  know  something  of  this  mantle  ? 
Then  climb  the  hills;  for  the  city  infra  nubem 
—  beneath  the  fog-— is  also  a  city  set  upon 

25 


INFRA  NUBEM 


hills.  From  some  of  the  upper  slopes  study 
this  wondrously  wrought  fabric.  Seen  from 
above  it  is  no  longer  gray  and  forbidding,  but 
white  as  driven  snow;  a  coverlet  that  throws 
back  into  sunlit  skies  the  genial  warmth  of 
summer  days.  Watch  it  come  into  being  far 
beyond  the  Heads.  The  very  soul  of  the  sea, 
it  rises  like  a  spirit  from  the  breast  of  waters. 
Through  the  broad  Gate  in  a  full-flowing 
tide,  it  veils  the  water  and  the  land.  Seen 
from  below,  a  level  sweep  and  monotone  of 
drab;  seen  from  above,  a  rufHed  sea  of  light 
and  shade,  a  billowing  cradle  for  the  imperi- 
ous winds.  Inland  it  spreads,  and  spreading, 
rarer  grows,  a  thin  gray  line,  to  die  at  last  — 
if  but  the  eye  could  see  —  upon  the  burnished 
wheat  fields  of  the  San  Joaquin. 

And  the  sun,  as  it  stands  a  moment  on  the 

26 


INFRA  NUBEM 


water's  rim,  ere  yet  it  bids  our  western  coast 
*'good  night'*,  sees  not  a  cowled  and  sad 
robed  penitent,  but  a  white-robed  Youth, 
whose  silken  scarf  waves  loosely  in  the 
breeze. 

Lover  of  the  City,  is  there  no  lesson  in  this 
two-fold  aspedt  of  the  fog?  Seen  in  the  hum- 
drum sweep  of  daily  life,  in  the  rush  and 
routine  of  the  business  day,  your  fellow  citi- 
zens are  sombre-hued  and  unattractive.  Seen 
from  a  higher  vantage  ground,  fling  they  not 
back  the  genial  warmth  of  their  humanity, 
the  sunlight  of  their  truer  selves? 

And  when  the  page  of  history  shall  be 
turned,  and  all  sad  monotones  of  self  are 
dimmed  in  the  stretch  of  time,  the  summed- 
up  efforts  of  all  will  shine  resplendent  to 
those  who  view  us  from  afar.     Then  the  his- 

27 


INFRA  NUBEM 


torian  of  our  time  and  place  will  write  the 
judgment: 

"  They  wrought  well  who  ah  un- 
known and  in  their  several  ways  built 
this  fair  city  round  whose  bright  breast 
is  wreathed  a  silken  scarf  of  love  with 
golden  threads  of  truth  and  justice  inter- 
twined. 


IHALASA'THALASSA 


J '  } »  ■>  t 


^b*  7araltone« 


IHALASA•THALASS^ 


lOUBTLESS  when  Athens  was  at 
its  best,  in  the  period  of  the 
Antonines,  the  citizen  condudted 
his  visiting  friend  up  the  broad 
steps  to  the  propyla^a  and  thence  to  the  Acro- 
poHs,  the  upper  city.  Before  the  portals  of 
the  temple  of  Minerva,  the  city  temple,  they 
would  pause;  for  in  the  distance  the  blue 
waters  of  the  i^gean  sparkled.  We  can  in 
fancy  hear  them  voice  the  thoughts  which 
must  have  risen,  quoting  in  that  plastic  lan- 
guage some  poet's  line,  telling  the  majesty, 
the  mystery  and  compelling  beauty  of  the  sea. 
Our  mother  tongue  was  then  but  the  jargon 
of  an  uncouth  tribe  almost  unknown  and 
hopelessly  barbaric:  theirs,  the  classic  speech 
of  centuries. 

31 


IHALASATHALASSA 


With  the  Attic  sunshine  Ughting  sea  and 
land;  and  on  every  side  evidence  of  peace, 
purity  and  permanence,  it  must  have  seemed 
to  both  Athenian  and  stranger  that  the  sun 
shone  more  rarely  there  than  elsewhere,  that 
a  prayer  there  whispered  were  worth  a  hun- 
dred offered  at  some  other  shrine. 

In  our  city  we  have  no  Acropolis  though 
the  hills  rise  as  high  and  even  higher.  And 
we  have  no  city  temple  with  portals  of  rare 
beauty;  but  we  have  the  sea,  a  greater  sea 
than  that  from  which  the  Greek  ever  drew 
strength  and  inspiration.  And  we  lead  the 
visiting  stranger  to  Land*s  End  —  our  Erich- 
theum — and  whether  the  day  be  bright  or 
overcast,  we  bid  him  look  and  look  again, 
while  the  very  rocks  re-echo  in  rude  English 

32 


imiASSATHALASSA 


speech  the  call  in  Lowell's  line,  well  worthy 
of  the  Greek, 

Aye  to  the  Age' s  drowsy  blood 
Still  shouts  the  inspiring  sea.'* 

On  Mile  Rock  stands  a  temple  of  the  Light. 
Above  foaming  crest  and  placid  tide,  it  looks 
indifferently  on  each,  deaf  to  the  wooing  of 
Poseidon,  sing  he  ever  so  softly  or  storm  in 
jealous  rage. 

Just  beyond  are  the  Seal  Rocks.  Unknown 
to  Cabrillo,  unseen  by  Drake,  these  hesperian 
outposts  were  first  sighted  from  the  sea,  one 
August  afternoon  in  1775  by  Juan  de  Ayala, 
master  of  the  paquebot  San  Carlos^  alias  Toysan 
de  Oro  (Golden  Fleece).  The  master  had 
been  commissioned  to  find  the  entrance  to 
the  Bay  of  San  Francisco. 

33 


MLASA-THALASSA 


Since  that  lone  vessel  answering  the  summer 
wind,  steered  bravely  through  the  Gate,  how 
vast  the  company  that  has  passed  this  way. 
Eyes  dry  and  moist  have  scanned  each  pin- 
nacle and  seam ;  and  many  a  traveller  marked 
his  journeying  begun  or  his  wandering  ended 
as  these  Farallones  in  miniature  came  into 
view. 

Across  the  water  Bonita  juts  out  boldly. 
To  the  north  a  low-lying  headland,  Duxbury, 
is  often  mistaken  for  a  dimmer  headland 
farther  west,  the  promontory  of  the  King, 
la  punta  de  los  Reyes,  Where  else  could  be  so 
fitting  site  for  Temple  of  the  Winds  ?  Here 
Sciron  and  Boreas,  warders  of  the  North,  join 
hands  and  hold  high  revel.  In  vain  the 
master  of  the  southeast  gale,  cloaked  Eurus, 
warns  the  invaders  back.     Tumultously  they 

34 


THALASA'THALASSA 


meet  and  rout  his  cloudy  squadrons  hurrying 
from  the  south.  For  when  the  north  wind 
blows,  the  spirit  of  a  mighty  land  rides 
free  and  wild.  No  cloud  nor  shred  of  fog 
remains.  Blue  is  the  sky,  the  blue  of  steel, 
and  clear  the  outlines  of  far  hills,  unseen 
before.  And  every  tree  bends  low,  making 
its  obeisance,  as  boisterously  the  storm  king 
passes. 

Once  on  a  day  in  May,  the  north  wind 
swept  o'er  cape  and  headland  an  hundred 
miles  an  hour  or  more.  In  the  ensenada, 
this  side  the  King's  Point,  anxious  mariners 
held  fast  to  extra  anchors.  Coaster,  collier 
and  liner  were  thankful  for  the  shelter  of  that 
far  reaching  headland. 

Out  beyond  the  roadstead  one  poor  wayfarer 
of  the  deep,  the  ship  WestgatCy  was  standing 

35 


THAIASA'THALASA 


in  as  the  gale  began.  Loyally  and  fairly  she 
had  borne  her  burden  over  the  wide  stretch 
between  Australia  and  California.  Like  a 
lady  of  the  sea,  joyously  caressing  the  waves 
she  pressed  on.  The  headlands  loomed  up 
and  the  harbor  was  ahead.  An  hour  more 
and  she  had  made  the  entrance.  Then  as  if 
to  meanly  show  his  ruffian  strength,  old  Sciron 
struck  her  full  in  the  face.  From  that  wrath 
in  deadly  fear  she  fled  for  very  life  a  thousand 
miles  southward.  Ten  days  later  very  timidly 
she  approached  the  Gate  and  this  time  entered 
in  and  made  the  longed-for  harbor. 

*  *  Thalassa,  thalassa  V  So  shouted  the  Ten 
Thousand  as  once  again  their  eyes  beheld  the 
sea.  We  whose  eyes  scan  an  ocean  vastly 
greater,  know  that  the  sea,  seemingly  imper- 
ious, strong  and  free,  is  in  its  turn  servant  of  the 

36 


THALASSATHALASS^ 


blast  and  vassal  of  the  storm.  When  the  gale 
calls,  crest  flings  itself  on  crest,  striving  in 
vain  to  outrun  the  w^hips  of  the  wind.  A 
greater  ocean  stirs  it  to  restlessness;  a  sea 
above  the  sea  disturbs  its  rest.  Seldom  the 
v^ater  sleeps  and  even  in  its  calmest  mood, 
moans  as  if  some  memory  of  punishment 
still  rankled. 

Though  it  binds  the  Nations,  bringing  men 
together;  and  draws  to  its  uncertain  keeping 
the  bold,  the  wayward  and  the  free,  the  ocean 
is  itself  in  thrall,  an  unwilling  captive  of  the 
unseen  but  insistent  air. 


THE5TRENCTHO 
THEHILLS 


m 
1^ 


THE-STRENCTH-OF 
THEHILU 


LTHOUGH  we  dwell  near  the 
water's  edge,  we  are  at  heart  and 
in  essence  a  hill  people.  Our 
tribes  are  many.  The  trans- 
marini,  name  more  restful  than  commuters, 
now  outnumber  the  dwellers  in  Mesopotamia, 
even  when  these  are  reinforced  by  shekel  scat- 
tering nomads,  lightly  called  tourists.  We  are 
plainsmen  only  when  we  meet  in  the  thor- 
oughfares of  trade;  and  then  we  darken  the 
level  places  like  shadows  of  fast  moving 
clouds.  Yet  the  call  of  the  hills  is  with  us 
in  our  busiest  hours  and  eager  faces  are  lit  by 
the  soul's  yearning  for  the  freedom  of  the 
uplifted  places,  the  sacred  stillness  of  the 
heights.     It  matters  not  what  origin  we  may 

41 


THE-STRENCTROF 
THEHILLS; 


boast,  or  whether  our  sires  were  pioneers  or 
pobladores,  a  common  creed  unites  us.  Seek- 
ing strength  we  lift  our  eyes  to  the  encircling 
hills;  and  never  does  the  generous  Mother 
withhold  it  from  her  worn  and  weary  child- 
ren. In  temples  built  of  unhewn  stone  we 
worship,  and  with  one  impulse  bow  before 
the  wide-spread  altars  of  cloud  and  sky  and 
hill,  asking  a  rebirth  of  our  better  selves. 

The  warm  southern  sky-line  is  filled  by  the 
San  Bruno  hills.  From  the  twin  peaks  that 
glow  in  sunrise  light,  and  whose  tops  are  lost 
in  the  sunset  fog,  south  to  the  Santa  Cruz, 
ridge  after  ridge  stretches  in  crumpled  folds. 
Southeast  beyond  the  still  waters  of  the  Bay 
loom  the  crests  of  Hamilton's  long  range. 
Running  north  these  culminate  seemingly  a 

42 


THKTRENCTH-OF 

THPHILLS; 


stone's  throw  from  the  city  but  really  thirty 
miles  away  in  Diablo' s  unyielding  cone.  A 
well-proportioned  mountain  it  swells  from 
the  horizon  and  stands  the  most  persistent 
feature  of  all  our  sky-line.  Its  name  carries 
no  suggestion  of  saintliness,  yet  on  winter 
mornings  the  mountain  wears  a  crown  of 
white;  and  matchless  in  purity  and  grace, 
points  us  to  heaven. 

In  the  north  the  hills  of  Sonoma  and  Marin 
hold  the  eye.  Too  often  the  full-flowing  fog 
drifting  inland,  blots  out  the  northern  shore. 
Yet  in  the  rifts,  one  may  catch  the  gleam  of 
sunlit  peak,  like  fleeting  smile  upon  a  tear- 
stained  face.  Seen  through  filmy  mist  and 
frowning  fog,  the  northern  hills  shine  trans- 
figured.   This  is  the  rarest  view  of  all.    Those 

43 


THE-STRENCTHOF 
THEHILLS 


whose  windows  look  unto  the  north,  these 
see  the  promise  of  the  hght  beyond  the  dim- 
ness of  the  day. 

St.  Helena  can  be  seen  only  on  a  clear  day 
in  winter,  such  a  day  as  follows  a  long  period 
of  rain  and  southeast  wind.  In  between,  like 
lurking  dimples,  are  many  monticellos  crowd- 
ed with  vineyards  and  orchards. 

'Twixt  north  and  south  lies  Tamalpais, 
friendliest  of  our  hills.  For  as  Israel  loved 
one  more  than  all  his  other  sons,  so  we  turn 
to  this  more  than  to  all  other  peaks.  Not  the 
firstborn  nor  with  the  shaggy  strength  of  the 
Sierra,  it  has  yet  a  grace  peculiarly  its  own. 
The  summit  shows  above  the  fogs  that  wrap 
the  mountain's  breast  and  pour  in  living  cas- 
cades round  its  feet.     It  guards  the  Gate,  a 

44 


THE5TRENCTH-0F 
THEHILI 


stalwart  sentinel.  The  clouds  of  winter  hov- 
ering on  its  crest  weave  snowy  wreaths  that 
vanish  with  the  sun's  first  ray.  Deep  in  its 
canyons,  the  ever-living  Sequoia  make  their 
home.  Some  were  stripling  trees  when  from 
the  shores  of  Galilee  came  the  message  of 
goodwill  to  men.  Now  grown  to  stately 
strength  they  toss  their  branches  high  and 
court  with  proper  modesty  the  all-searching 
scrutiny  of  the  sun :  or  in  the  stillness  of  the 
night  turn  longing  faces  to  the  inquiring, 
constant  stars. 

Those  who  know  our  hills  well  prize  most 
the  hours  before  sunrise,  ere  the  slanting  sun- 
beams have  searched  secluded  depths.  Then 
the  wild  flowers  wet  with  dew  hold  up  their 
heads  and  offer  crystal  stores  as  tribute  to  the 

45 


THESTRENCTHOF  * 
THPHILLS 


morn.  The  air  is  sweet  with  the  breath  of 
bay  and  pine  and  lilac,  and  every  canyon  sheds 
abroad  its  fragrance. 

Nor  are  the  evening  hours  without  delight, 
when  the  retreating  sun  is  followed  by  the 
enfolding  night  and  darkness  sweeps  from 
human  ken  the  monuments  of  day.  Who 
then  climbs  the  hills  may  look  in  quiet  down 
upon  the  lesser  constellations  far  outspread 
marking  the  homes  of  men. 

Our  hills  do  not  hedge  us  in:  they  free 
us,  and  allure  to  realms  beyond  the  hori- 
zon line.  Indifferent  to  men  and  tides  they 
stand  steadfast.  In  their  presence,  under  their 
shadows,  we  gain  strength  and  inspiration. 
The  burden  of  the  day  grows  lighter,  the 
minor  cares  slip  from  us  even  as  Pilgrim's 

46 


THE5TRENCTH-0F 
THEHILLS: 


pack  fell  from  his  shoulders.  Worry,  wound 
and  the  burn  of  righteous  wrath  give  way  to 
gentleness  and  kindlier  thoughts  with  ever- 
widening  charity  for  all. 


AUTHOR'S  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  know  well  Professor  George 
Davidson,  for  thirty  years  in  charge  of  the  U.  S.  Coast 
and  Geodetic  Survey  on  the  Pacific ;  and  for  several  years 
Professor  of  Geography  in  the  University  of  California. 
For  more  than  fifty  years  he  was  a  close  student  of  Early 
Exploration  on  this  Coast;  and  personally  visited  and 
identified  most  of  the  places  mentioned  in  the  narratives 
of  the  Early  Explorers. 

He  is  my  authority  for  statements  made  here. 


THELICHTSOVIID 


^k^t  'prater  ^ook  Cro»« 


THELICHTSOVTSIDE 


HE  lover  of  the  City,  climbing 
the  hills  about  sunset  on  a  day 
when  the  curtain  of  fog  has  been 
lifted,  sees  a  stretch  of  water  ex- 
tending westward  in  unbroken  level  save 
where  the  Islands  of  St.  James,  better  known 
as  the  Farallones,  rear  their  sharp  heads.  The 
glimmer  of  the  sunlight  upon  the  western 
waters  is  beautiful  beyond  expression;  and  if 
it  should  happen  that  the  moon  rising  full, 
mellows  the  yet  ruddy  gold  of  departing  day, 
the  watcher  may  turn  from  the  scene,  forced 
like  that  lover  of  Athens  in  days  long  gone, 
to  cry  out 

**  Such  beauty  is  akin  to  pain  '' 
As  the  stars  come  out,  sharp  eyes  can  pick 
up   beyond  the  Heads  the  steady  beacon  of 

51 


THELICHTSOVTSIDE 


the  Lightship,  old  No.  70;  and  farther  still, 
the  intermittent  beam  from  the  revolving 
lens  on  the  Farallones.  On  the  right  Bonita 
flashes  brightly;  and  marking  the  channel 
are  many  kindly  lights. 

Three  hundred  thirty-three  years  ago,  an 
English  gentleman  buccaneer,  sharer  of 
spoils  w^ith  certain  stay-at-homes  influential 
at  Court,  turned  a  nevi^  furrow  in  this  stretch, 
now  so  well  guarded  by  light  and  buoy. 
Seeking  a  great  river  that  should  bear  him 
to  the  Atlantic,  Francis  Drake  drove  the 
Golden  Hind  northward  until  the  summer 
wind  forced  him  back.  Glad  to  get  out  of 
the  wind,  he  rounded  the  point,  now  marked 
by  a  first-order  light.  Under  the  lee  of 
Point  Reyes  he  anchored,  and  named  the 
white  cliffs   Nuova   Albion.     And  so  it  hap- 

52 


THELICHTSOVTSIDE 


pens  that  the  first  New  England  lies  on  the 
northern  shore  of  this  stretch  of  waters,  the 
Gulf  of  the  Farallones. 

Drake  remained  a  month  taking  over  the 
sovereignty  of  the  country  and  repairing  his 
stout  little  ship,  the  only  one  left  of  the 
fleet  of  three  with  which  he  started  from 
Plymouth.  Leaving  on  a  day  in  June,  he 
sailed  southwestward  across  this  ensenada,  and 
sighting  the  Farallones,  sent  a  boat's  crew 
ashore.  He  named  these  rocky  outposts  '  *The 
Islands  of  St.  James.*'  There  on  the  stony 
shelves,  as  well  as  on  the  beach  he  had  just 
left,  the  accents  of  our  mother  tongue  broke 
the  stillness  ere  yet  Shakespeare  had  learned 
his  letters  or  our  English  bible  had  been  trans- 
lated. Not  without  some  measure  of  surprise 
do  most  visitors  to  this  western  rim  of  the 

S3 


THELICHTS'OVTSIDE 


continent  learn  that  twenty-eight  years  before 
Jamestown  was  settled,  and  forty-one  years 
before  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  landed  on  Plym- 
outh Rock,  this  distant  stretch  of  water,  these 
wild  winds  and  drifting  fogs  re-echoed  in 
vigorous  English,  song,  jest,  oath  and  perhaps 
a  low  voiced  prayer  for  help  and  safety. 

Drake,  however,  was  not  the  first  European 
to  behold  these  grim  islets.  Thirty-seven 
years  earlier,  the  intrepid  Cabrillo,  steering 
north,  traversed  la  Bahia  de  los  Pinos;  and 
though  he  missed  the  islands  going  north,  he 
marked  them  as  he  sped  south  before  the 
gale. 

Twenty-four  years  after  Drake,  Viscaino 
came,  seeking  the  cabo  de  Mendocino.  He 
worked  his  course  slowly  northward,  taking 
advantage  of  the  light  winds  of  the  early  Fall. 

54 


THELIGHTSOVTSIDE 


Then  the  weather  changed  even  as  it  does 
now  and  the  first  recorded  southeast  storm 
began.  So  hard  did  it  blow,  the  small  vessels, 
the  Capitana  San  Diego  and  the  Fragata  Los 
Tres  Reyes  labored  heavily,  as  well  they  might. 
On  January  7th  (old  style),  1603,  these  voy- 
agers passed  what  they  called  the  **  Puerto  de 
San  Francisco.''  And  the  narrative  con- 
tinues : 

**The  Fragata,  concluding  there  was  no 
necessity  to  seek  a  harbor,  continued  the 
voyage ;  and  the  Capitana,  thinking  they  were 
in  company,  did  not  show  a  light,  so  in  the 
morning  they  were  not  in  sight  of  each  other, 
and  the  General  returned  with  the  Capitana 
to  the  puerto  de  San  Francisco.'* 

Perhaps  it  was  not  easy  to  display  a  light 
during  the  storm.     But  on  all  the  face  of  the 

55 


THELICHTSOVTSIDE 


waters  there  was  not  a  single  light ;  no  friend- 
ly gleam  to  tell  of  human  sympathy  in  the 
dark. 

We  who  look  through  the  Gate,  now  so 
well  lit,  and  mark  the  steady  beam  of  the 
lightship,  the  flicker  from  the  Farallones,  the 
flash  from  Point  Reyes  and  the  kindly  signals 
from  Bonita  and  Mile  Rock,  may  well  do 
silent  homage  to  the  memory  of  those  daring 
souls  who  sailed  these  seas,  ere  yet  there  was 
a  City  within  the  Gate,  or  welcoming  lights 
outside. 


LA  BOCAN  A 


ERUSALEM  has  a  Golden  Gate 
which  is  kept  walled  by  the  Turks 
lest  the  Giaour  come  some  day 
and  passing  through,  conquer  and 
take  possession  of  the  City;  for  so  does  the 
old  prophecy  run. 

Our  Golden  Gate  lies  open,  all  unwalled, 
save  where  the  hills  come  down  to  meet  the 
waters.  Through  it  believer  and  unbeliever 
pass  unchallenged.  Alike  they  enter  and 
depart;  and  all  bear  testimony  to  the  beauty 
of  the  scene. 

From  the  west  one  does  not  readily  per- 
ceive the  entrance  to  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco. 
The  landfall  is  peculiar;  and  the  Marin  hills 
in  friendly  fashion  lean  over  and  seem  to  join 
the  crests  of  the  southern  peninsula,  while  a 

59 


LA  BOCAN A 


background  of  Contra  Costa  hills  makes  a 
continuous  sky  line. 

The  early  exptorers  failed  to  discover  the 
Bay  from  without  and  never  entered  in. 
Spaniard  and  Englishman  sailed  by,  ignorant 
of  w^hat  w^as  within ;  and  their  lookouts  saw 
no  sign. 

From  the  east  the  vision  is  one  of  unob- 
scured  splendor.  Seen  from  the  Berkeley 
hills,  la  Bocana  de  la  Ensenada  de  los  Faral- 
lones^  the  Gate  of  the  Gulf  of  the  Farallones, 
deserves  all  the  praise  we  lavish  on  it.  For 
sixty-four  years  it  has  borne  its  present  name. 
On  his" survey  sheet  in  1848,  Fremont  marked 
the  word  Chrysopylae,  Gates  of  Gold.  And 
yet  four  score  years  before  the  pathfinder 
came  others  who  also  were  impressed  by 
what   they   saw.     Portola,  Crespi,  and  Cos- 

60 


LABOCANA 


tanso  sought  a  grand  estero,  the  Port  of  Mon- 
terey. They  came  to  it,  but  did  not  recognize 
it,  and  wandered  on.  The  Bay  of  Monterey, 
as  they  saw  it,  did  not  meet  the  description 
given  by  Viscaino.  Working  north  and 
drenched  by  the  early  rains,  they  made  camp 
near  where  Montara  now  is.  Two  days 
travel  would  have  brought  them  to  the  Gate. 
The  Sergeant  and  some  soldiers,  sent  to  hunt, 
worked  slowly  eastward  and  saw  from  the  high 
ground  the  southern  portion  of  the  inner  bay. 
The  General,  the  Captain  and  the  pious  Padre 
saw  from  the  heights  above  the  camp  the 
outer  reaches  from  Point  Pedro  to  Bolinas. 
The  expedition  returned.  Two  years  later 
another  company  toiled  north,  and  on  a  day 
in  March,  Don  Pedro  Pages,  Padre  Crespi 
and  twelve  soldiers  reached  the  eastern  shore 

61 


LA  BOCAN A 


and  pitched  camp  at  el  arroyo  del  Bosque,  the 
Oakland  estuary.  Next  day  they  climbed  the 
hills  near  Berkeley;  and  clear  and  distind:, 
the  Gate  came  in  view,  in  line  with  Alcatraz 
and  the  far  distant  Farallon  rocks  known  for 
more  than  two  centuries.  These,  the  first 
white  men  who  ever  saw  the  Golden  Gate, 
called  it  not  inaptly,  La  Bocana. 

Seen  at  the  close  of  day,  the  tide  throws 
back  a  shimmering  flood  of  light.  Prone 
are  we  then  to  liken  it  to  gold;  but  *tis  scant 
and  dubious  honor  to  the  glorious  hues.  More 
fitting  did  we  call  it  Gate  of  Light. 

Between  us  and  the  lightship,  the  Heads, 
stern  faced  and  sombre,  frown  upon  a  far 
flung  line  of  scurrying  foam.  There  the  bar 
breaks,  and  sullen  waters  moan  as  they  spend 
their  strength.     Nearing  the  cliffs,  the  ruffian 

62 


LA  BOCAN  A 


billows  beat  their  foaming  crests  in  vain  against 
the  unyielding  face  of  Lobos.  Joyously  we 
watch  their  rout.  Around  Bonita*s  feet  they 
sw^irl,  snarling  like  angry  tigers  at  the  white 
tower  that  warns  the  careless  seaman  not  to 
swing  too  near  that  treacherous  front. 

Within  the  Gate  the  stately  ships  dread 
neither  gale  nor  shoal.  They  sail  to  pleasant 
moorings  through  well-guarded  depths.  The 
anchors  hold,  there  is  no  straining  at  the 
chains.  The  wayward  wanderers  of  the  sea 
are  at  home. 

So  may  that  greater  voyage  end  in 
peace  for  all  who  come  and  go  this  way. 


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